


La vie est dure, mais chérie, vous l’êtes aussi

by Etwas_Schlau



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Based on a Tumblr Post, Brainwashing, Drabble Sequence, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Talon, Present Tense, Reflection, Romance, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-02 11:31:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12725811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etwas_Schlau/pseuds/Etwas_Schlau
Summary: When Sombra's treason against Talon is discovered by Reaper, she has no choice but to go on the run. But she'd never leave without taking her favourite spider with her, would she?





	1. “Please, come with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> **Note:** I do not own Overwatch. All rights to the game and its characters belong to Blizzard.
> 
> an adventure in how long i can ignore the half-finished works sleeping in my hard drive
> 
> based on four-word prompts by @ghostling on tumblr which can be found [here](http://ghostling.tumblr.com/post/136629548151/four-word-prompts-please-come-with-me). each drabble will follow the same narrative in chronological order, so basically it's just a regular fic with really short chapters. i apologize in advance.

“Please, come with me.”

The words catch Widowmaker by surprise and she cranes her neck to glance at the Sombra's surprisingly solemn expression.

“ _Quoi?_ ”

“Come with me,” she repeats, taking a tentative step forward into Widowmaker’s personal space. There's something fragile in her voice, like a baby bird being cradled in a cupped hand. "You’ve told me how much you hate the reconditioning. If you come with you won’t have to deal with Talon ever again. You can finally be free.”

.

The sniper recoils from Sombra almost instinctively. “When have I told you-”

“Last month, and the month before, and the month before.”

Widowmaker is indignant. “I have never-”

“Yes you have. Every month, right before the treatments, you come to my quarters and break down over it. Like clockwork.”

Widowmaker quirks an accusatory eyebrow. “Why do I have no recollection these supposed _breakdowns_?”

“It’s part of the reconditioning, it stifles any dissenting feelings toward Talon and that includes repressing memories involving intense emotions of defiance.”

Widow crosses her arms, glaring at Sombra defensively. “Yet you never thought to mention such things before now?”

“What would it have done but made it worse?” she rationalizes with a shrug.

“As if it helps now? You know I cannot leave,” Widowmaker snaps irritably, the ire in her voice speaking volumes of the reconditioning’s weakening grasp on her emotions.

“Come on, _araña_. I don’t have much time before Gabe comes looking for me. I know it’ll be hard, but wouldn’t you rather be on the run than trapped here under Talon’s mind control _mierda?_?”

“Sombra-”

“ _Amé_.”

Widowmaker whirls around, rage quivering in her amber eyes. “That is not my name.”

“Yes it is! You’re Amélie Lacroix, not some marionette for Talon to play with whenever they feel like tugging the strings!”

“Amélie Lacroix is dead. She died with Gérard when the Widowmaker murdered him.”

“If that’s true, how are you angry right now?”

“What are you talking about?” the assassin growls out skeptically.

“The Widowmaker can’t feel, yet here you are, angry at me,” Sombra states, hands perching on her hips. “If Amélie were dead then you wouldn’t care about what I was saying. And if you were completely loyal to Talon then you would have definitely reported me for disloyalty by now.”

Widow’s lips part then promptly shut. She massages her suddenly throbbing forehead with the heel of her palm, feeling like the very atoms of her being are forcefully splitting from one another. “I-”

Purple eyes meet gold, gleaming with sincerity and manic desperation. “Come with me. We can run away and hide together, with our combined genius Talon won’t even know where to look. We can break out of this hellhole and never look back. Free, just the two of us against the world. Please.” A cybernetically enhanced hand extends toward the sniper. An offering, a promise.

Widowmaker’s slim, blue-skinned hand lands on Sombra’s and their fingers clutch each other for stability in a world that's very suddenly become much smaller and infinitely more dangerous. Sombra smiles a full, toothy smile at her friend and for the first time in a decade Amélie Lacroix thinks she feels hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> quoi - what  
> araña - spider  
> mierda - shit, crap
> 
> i'm always open to chat at comrade-schlau.tumblr.com


	2. “You’re always number one.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Widowmaker tries to remember her past. Sombra goes to the grocery store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's a chapter buffer amirite
> 
> this is too long to be considered a drabble, isn't it?

Widowmaker’s amber eyes scan the television screen before her, uninterestedly acknowledging the mind-numbing local newscast playing quietly upon it. The middle-aged reporters on-screen are smiling fake, too-wide smiles and laughing polite, too-hard laughter at things that aren’t funny and it makes the ex-sniper wrinkle her nose in distaste.

She wonders idly if that means progress.

Boredom plucks at the back of her skull like a worn violin string and she’s reminded for the umpteenth time since her departure that she has no hobbies. One would suppose spending a decade lathering, rinsing, and repeating a routine of mindless killing would do that to a person.

She sighs and changes the channel, a cooking program illuminating the dim room with bright images of a clean, lavish kitchen decorated with ingredients. Amélie tilts her head with mild interest, watching the cheerful chefs guide their way through the preparation of a sophisticated meal. It’s not the most interesting thing she’s seen and the affected, overly-friendly attitude of the cooks makes her cringe, but she finds herself somehow drawn to it.

The ex-Talon agent takes a moment to ponder her past, an ever more common occurrence in the past weeks. She speculates whether she had perhaps possessed culinary skills before her capture. (She’d certainly had enough money to pursue such things if she’d wished.) However, since the cessation of her reconditioning, her life before Talon has been little more than a hazy recollection of fragmented memories in her mind. She supposes it’s for the best; she’d rather be ignorant of what her life used to be than waste energy yearning for what was. If there’s anything she knows, it’s that there’s no going back to the way things were before.

She watches the show to its completion and continues observing as the program ends and the next broadcast plays, settling comfortably on the couch beneath the coarse blanket Sombra had supplied her with. Her eyes flicker momentarily to the hacker’s sleeping form on the floor. She’s dressed sheerly in sweatpants and a tank top and Widow feels a pang of something uncomfortable at the sight of her bare arms exposed to the cold air of the room without covers.

She wonders, yet again, why Sombra had offered up the only blanket they had to her without a second thought. With the effects of reconditioning still lingering, she doesn’t feel the cold as strongly as a normal person would, yet Sombra had refused to take the blanket back, insisting Amélie needed it more than she did. Thinking on the matter only brings a stronger manifestation of the same uncomfortable feeling she can’t quite place, so she turns her attention back to the television to distract herself.

Sombra stirs two culinary shows later, sitting up and almost instantaneously conjuring a purple-tinted screen to tap and swipe at. Widowmaker doesn’t know what the Latina could possibly be doing now that she no longer has Talon work to complete, but she doesn’t bother asking. Both women are aware of each other’s presence, but neither speaks because what is there to say?

A bit later Sombra stands, crossing the apartment to where her clothes lay atop the cheap plywood dresser housing Amé’s sparse belongings. Yet another instance of Sombra’s uncharacteristic selflessness, she had insisted she didn’t need a drawer for her things. Widowmaker is drawn from her thoughts by the squeaking hiss of the shower. She can hear the hacker humming a tuneless song from inside the bathroom and for a moment, she feels at ease.

Sombra emerges from the shower some time later, dressing quietly behind Widowmaker. The studio apartment gives little privacy but she knows Amélie won’t look. As Sombra steps into her shoes and pulls on her heavy winter coat, a thought strikes the ex-sniper and she sits up, turning to the Latina.

“When are you going to the store next?”

Sombra’s brows furrow in confusion. “Uh, if things go well with this hacking job, then I’ll get payout on Thursday. Why?”

“Could you... buy a few things for me? To cook?”

“Whatever you need,” she replies with a charmed smirk. “I have to go, but write down what you want and I’ll make sure to pick it up, ¿ _vale_?”

Widowmaker nods and Sombra slips from the apartment, leaving the Frenchwoman alone with the soft murmur of the television. The playing program is detailing the preparation of an enticing meal including a garden salad and seafood risotto and Amé retrieves a notebook and pen from the dresser. She scrawls down an outline of ingredients as they are used on-screen and once she’s finished she rereads it with a critical eye. She knows that Sombra won’t earn enough from her odd hacking stint to buy everything listed, but it’s a start. She deposits the paper on the end table beside the couch and leans back on the lounge to finish the show.

Her eyelids abruptly feel heavy as the exhaustion of sleeplessness begins to set in. She can’t remember the last time she’s slept. Talon’s treatments had given her the ability to stay up for days at a time on extended missions so ever since her egress sleep had eluded her. But time has finally begun to catch up, and as the culinary program ends, she slips from consciousness into a heavy slumber.

* * *

Widowmaker idly files a fingernail as she gazes out the window. It’s grey outside, drab sky blotted out with thick cloud cover and a light sprinkling of rain. A vague memory slowly comes to mind as she studies the precipitation; it’s merely a whisper but she recalls a rainy day not all that long ago spent with Sombra.

An image forms in her subconscious, foggy and unsure, but she remembers sitting on the edge of Sombra’s bed in her Talon quarters, knees pulled to her chest and eyes burning. She had stared at the blind-obscured window for what felt like forever, watching the rain pour, until the hacker had scooted across the hard cot to sit next to her. The memory seems to fade from there and Widow closes her eyes, squinting until her head aches in a desperate attempt to reclaim anamnesis of her own life.

Her upper arm tingles with phantom remembrance of Sombra gently placing an arm around her shoulders. She recalls looking at Sombra as the Latina had stared out into the storm, eyes shining with reminiscent nostalgia as she spoke of something that had both surprised and endeared Widowmaker to her. No matter how hard she squints, however, she cannot for the life of her remember what Sombra had said.

Her navel-gazing is cut short as the apartment door opens to reveal a very wet Sombra weighed down with plastic grocery bags. She smirks despite herself and the hacker responds with a certain inappropriate hand gesture as she drags two armfuls of groceries to the kitchenette. Amélie glances over the back of the couch as Sombra is putting away her purchases, quirking an eyebrow at the surprising amount of produce and other unusual foodstuff.

“How much did you get for that hacking job?” she questions skeptically.

“Not much more than the last one. Why, what’s up?”

“You bought a lot more than usual at the store.”

“Well, I made sure to get everything on your list.”

“ _Quoi_?” she retorts in shock, eyes widening. “Everything? You shouldn’t have, we need that money to cover rent.”

“Calm down, _araña_ , I’ll just pick up another gig with the guy I’m working for right now,” she soothes dismissively. “He has a lot of enemies whose dirt I can dig up.”

Widowmaker crosses her arms, chest heavy with that baffling discomfort as she eyes the packages of dry risotto Sombra is squeezing in the cupboard. “But why? You’ve only made more work for yourself, why would you do this for me?”

Sombra looks up from the jar of saffron in her hands. “Because, spider,” she replies, cracking a brilliant grin as she speaks, “you’re always number one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> vale - okay, alright
> 
> pay me a visit at comrade-schlau.tumblr.com


	3. “I can’t do this.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amélie decides to practice her long-forgotten skill of ballet dancing and she _will_ make Sombra suffer with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~never did i think my fic writing career would lead me to spend half an hour of my life watching online ballet tutorials~~
> 
> hi there, i'm snake, your friendly neighbourhood writer gremlin; subverting tropes one fic at a time by making angst prompts into shitposts about ballet. enjoy.

“I can’t do this!”

Widowmaker rolls her eyes for the umpteenth time. “Yes, you can.”

“ _Araña_ , I don’t bend that way.”

Amé sighs heavily, standing up straight and striding to where Sombra is shakily balancing on the tips of her toes. “You’re doing it wrong, you need to start with a plié then bring your leg up to a retiré before you begin the turn.”

The hacker blinks cluelessly. “Uh. What?”

Widow pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, stepping back to the open space behind the couch.. “Watch me and do as I do. Pay attention this time. First you plié,” she begins as she situates her feet then bends and unbends her knees. “Now you lift your arms and raise your leg, touching your toes to your other knee, which is called passé or retiré."

Sombra wrinkles her brows but mimics the movement, bending her knees and lifting her right leg and-

“No, no, no. When you plié you want your knees to move forward, not to the side. I showed you before. Like so.”

“So you’re basically just kinda squatting but forward?”

 _Imbécile_ … A pale blue hand drags its way down Amélie’s face. “That’s one way to put it,” she replies through clenched teeth. “Now try it again.”

Sombra carefully pliés and Widow nods, waving a hand in encouragement. She shifts her weight onto her left foot, shakily lifting her right knee before losing balance and collapsing to the floor.

“Ouch,” she mutters, rubbing her elbow.

Widowmaker crosses the room, standing over Sombra and extending a hand. The Latina offers sheepish grin, lacing their fingers together, and Widow pulls her back to her feet, eying the other woman with the gaze of a teacher staring down a petulant child.

“Try passé again.”

Sombra sighs, crossing her legs in an x-formation and bending her knees. Raising her leg, she jumps as she feels Widowmaker’s hands land on her hip and thigh.

“Whoa, what are you doing there, spider?”

“I am trying to steady you.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she teases, smirking wolfishly.

Amé rolls her eyes again as she repositions Sombra’s outstretched arms into the shape of a circle and steps away. “Now, the pirouette turn. Watch me, simply plié, passé, and spin.” She illustrates with a calculated, aplomb technique and Sombra gapes.

“You expect _me_ to do that?”

“Yes. Now it’s your turn.”

The hacker exhales deeply, taking in another breath before pliéing. She pauses, steps forward into a retiré and executes a slow, somewhat crooked version of the demonstrated pirouette.

Sombra stops carefully and looks up at Widowmaker. “How was that?”

“It needs much refinement,” she watches Sombra’s face fall slightly so she smiles softly before adding, “but good for a beginner.”

The Mexican pumps her fist in the air, smiling proudly.

“After you master the double pirouette, we can practice piqué turns.”

“We can practice _what?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> araña - spider  
> imbécile - idiot
> 
> slap me into a coherent posting schedule at comrade-schlau.tumblr.com


	4. "I won't let you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sombra is running herself ragged pulling overtime for extra cash and Widowmaker is not having it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw you find yourself at the brink of an emotional breakdown from watching family feud  
> someone needs to stop me from writing sombra as an overemotional insomniac

Widowmaker is startled awake by the sound of the apartment door opening and she jerks upright, alarm thrumming in her chest. She exhales a relieved breath, however, as she recognizes the familiar silhouette of her roommate in the doorway.

“Sombra,” she mutters as she sits up, casting a glance at the stove clock, “it’s five o’clock in the morning, what are you doing?”

The hacker steps into the kitchenette where the dim light above the sink casts dark shadows on her face. “Just, working.” Her voice is flat and heavy with exhaustion and Widow frowns.

“You were doing a job until midnight, what could your employer possibly need?”

“Different guy this time. Kid of some rich CEO who wanted to make his daddy proud by fucking over a competitor company.”

“Why would you waste time with that?”

“Because, he was offering some killer cash for it. Easy money,” Sombra brags lazily as she digs in a kitchen drawer for a package of instant coffee.

Widowmaker pulls the coffee grounds from the hacker’s hands, shooting her an admonishing glare. “You need to sleep.”

“What was it Gabe used to say? Sleep is for the weak,” Sombra scoffs, waving a gloved hand dismissively. “I’ve got another hacking stint in three hours but I’m half computer, I’ll be fine.”

Amélie tucks the coffee packet back in the drawer, crossing her arms. “You are still human and need sleep, more than three hours. Tell your employer you cannot make it.”

“But it’s a big payout-!”

“You earn enough from your main employment to pay for rent, utilities, and food. You do not need to do that job,” the ex-sniper states, simple and blunt.

Sombra deflates infinitesimally and nods. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I should sleep.”

Widowmaker watches with brows raised as the Latina sheds her coat and shoes before shuffling over to her comforter on the floor. She’d never gotten Sombra to listen to her so easily before. She skeptically lies back down on the couch, maintaining a suspicious eye on Sombra for a few minutes until she can hear the hacker’s soft snores.

She rolls her eyes and shifts positions to follow her companion’s example. She’d known she was tired.

* * *

It’s three a.m. when Widowmaker awakens and she instantly feels far too awake for having gotten four hours of sleep. She can already sense energy and alertness vibrating in her bones, telling her she won’t be able to fall back asleep now, so she shuffles to a sitting position on the couch.

This isn’t the first time insomnia has plagued her in the passing weeks. Phantom symptoms of Talon’s reconditioning regularly haunt her like ghosts, menacing specters that she’s ascertained are easier to ignore than to fight. She sighs and mentally braces herself for another night of exhaustion, amber eyes filtering through the darkness enveloping the room with disenchanted fatigue.

Her chest tightens in an odd way as she notices Sombra is missing from her makeshift bed on the floor. She stands, tense, itching to do something but knowing there’s nothing to be done. The sudden acceleration of her heart calms, however, as she sees light shining from the crack beneath the bathroom door. She breathes a relieved exhale and rests back on the lounge, turning the television on in what she knows is a futile attempt at entertainment.

Her thoughts are dim and her eyes heavy as she pays half-hearted attention to the 50-year-old syndicated game show episode playing. The contestants are laughing and joking with members of their families as they participate in the game, and Widowmaker feels a painful pang of longing for something she can’t quite describe. Their joyful and carefree attitude, perhaps she envies them for it. She idly wonders is she just yearns for something to do, something genuinely enjoyable to fill the everpresent boredom that rots in her chest like a disease these days.

Or perhaps it is their family, supporting them with smiles and applause and words of encouragement, even when their responses to the host’s questions are completely ludicrous.

Amélie blinks, hard, teeth clenching together as she wills herself to think about anything else. The last thing she needs is to dwell on her situation more than she already has. She knows by now that the only thing it achieves is more pain. She hates that she almost wishes she had Moira’s drugs pumping through her veins once more, wishes she again didn’t feel at all.

Her mind is taken off such things when the apartment door clicks open, revealing a cautious-looking Sombra tiptoeing inside. Their eyes meet after a moment and the spy deflates, shutting the door with a loud thunk.

“Hey…” she offers weakly, scratching the back of her neck. “Can’t sleep?”

Widowmaker glances to the light shining from beneath the bathroom door then back to Sombra. “You are getting sloppy.”

A crease appears between her eyebrows. “What?”

“You still have thermoptic camouflage and your translocator, yet you are using the bathroom light as a cover.”

Sombra’s eyes drop to the floor shakily. “Right…”

Widow stands, arms tightly crossed. “Sombra, what is going on? Why do you keep doing this?”

“I’m just earning some extra money on the side!” she defends.

“Why? What do you need money _for_?”

The hacker sighs, throwing herself onto the couch. She hunches her back, elbows on her knees, as she gazes intently at the carpet. “You deserve better than this, Widow.”

“What are you talking about?” the ex-sniper hisses, quirking a finely groomed brow.

“I did this, I drug you from Talon with me into this, this _agujero en la pared,_ and I have nothing to show for it,” Sombra retorts, throwing her hands in the air. “You deserve to live comfortably, especially when it’s my fault you’re here in the first place.”

“Sombra, it is not-”

“Don’t. I’ve read your personnel files, I know all about the life you used to live. Your family was rich, you owned a huge mansion in Annecy… you lived in luxury and now you’re stuck here with nothing to do but watch decades-old television,” she growls, standing and motioning to the program on the TV. “I need to save up if we’re ever going to get out of this place, which is why I’m  going back in half an hour.”

Lithe fingers grasp Sombra’s wrist as she moves toward the door. “I won't let you.”

“What are you going to do, tie me up?”

Amélie settles back on the couch, waving to the cushion beside her. “Stay,” she breathes, eyes trained on Sombra’s. “ _S'il vous plaît._ ”

The Latina’s harsh gaze softens and she sits next to Widowmaker with a resigned sigh. They watch the game show together in silence, tense but peaceful.

“Sombra,” Widow begins tentatively after some time has passed, “I will admit this situation is not ideal, but I do not want you to run yourself into the ground for me. You are working your hardest and... I appreciate that.”

Soft hair tickles Widowmaker’s neck as Sombra rests her head on her shoulder. “ _Espero que te mejores pronto_ ,” she mumbles. “ _Serás feliz, me aseguraré de ello.”_

Before she can ask what that means, Sombra is asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grossly ooc spiderbyte interactions? in _my_ fic? it's more likely thank you think.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> agujero en la pared - hole in the wall  
> s'il vous plaît - please  
> espero que te mejores pronto - I hope you get better soon  
> serás feliz, me aseguraré de ello - you will be happy, i will make sure of it
> 
> ask me anything at comrade-schlau.tumblr.com


End file.
